Chapter 11: Angela

The sunlight hitting the silk sheets felt like a physical weight, gold and heavy against my eyelids. My eyes snapped open, and I sat up with a jolt, my hand instinctively reaching for the dagger that usually lived under my pillow. It met only the plush, yielding surface of a mattress that felt far too much like a cloud. For a heart-stopping second, the high vaulted ceilings and deep velvet drapes were a nightmare—a hallucination of grandeur—until the fog of sleep cleared and the reality of Fortundra settled in.

I was in the lion’s den. And I was late.

I scrambled out of the oversized bed, the fine linen tangling around my legs. My bare feet thudded against the polished stone floor, the chill of it grounding me. I needed to move, to scout, to understand why Ultarion feared Zion enough to send a girl like me to die for a secret.

A sharp, rhythmic rap on the heavy oak door made me jump, my heart leaping into my throat.

“Diana?”

It was the maid from the night before. I smoothed my rumpled tunic just as she entered. She was striking—ocean-blue eyes and pale blonde hair styled into curls so precise they looked sculpted from marble. She appeared to be in her forties, carrying a grace that felt entirely too refined for a servant.

“I’m—I’m almost ready,” I stammered, catching a glimpse of myself in the floor-length mirror. My light brown hair was a bird's nest of tangles, a chaotic souvenir from my sprint through the woods to see Karlos the night before. I tried to rake my fingers through it, only to snag them on a stubborn knot.

The woman smiled, a small, knowing thing that made me wonder if she could see the guilt written on my skin. “Allow me to help you with that.”

“No, really, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to be a burden—”

“It is no burden to do what one is told,” she insisted, her voice firm but kind as she gently guided me toward a velvet-cushioned vanity chair.

I sank into the seat, feeling dangerously vulnerable. “What’s your name? If I’m going to be a ‘burden,’ I should at least know who I’m bothering.”

She paused, the silver-backed brush hovering in mid-air. Her eyes widened, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing her features. “My name?”

“Yes,” I said, meeting her gaze in the reflection. “I’d like to know it.”

“No guest has ever asked me that,” she murmured, a flicker of respect—or perhaps pity—softening her gaze. “It’s Angela.” She began to work. The first tug was brutal.

“Ouch!”

“You don’t favor a brush much, do you?” she asked, her voice amused as she navigated the thicket of my hair.

“It stays in a ponytail,” I grunted, flinching again as she hit another snag. “Easier for... traveling. Less to get caught in the wind.”

“Well, don’t your people have brushes in the provinces?”

“We do,” I winced. “But where I’m from, a silver brush like that is worth more than a week’s worth of grain. Only the rich have all the time in the world for vanity.”

Angela’s expression softened. She worked more gently now, her touch becoming almost maternal. “Well, Zion has seen to it that you have every luxury here. He was quite specific about this room. The light, the fabrics... he chose them himself.”

I stared at my reflection, my stomach twisting. This room wasn't just a place to sleep; it was a curated set, a gilded cage designed by the King himself. “He was?”

“He assigned me to you personally,” she continued, her voice dropping an octave, leaning closer. “He said I was the best for the job of watching over you.”

Watching over me? I wondered. Or watching me? Did he know I had slipped out to find Karlos? Did he know every word I’d told him was a fabrication?

“Promise me you’ll keep a secret, Diana?” Angela whispered, her face close to mine in the mirror.

I raised an eyebrow, my pulse quickening. “I’m good at secrets. They’re the only thing I truly own.”

“He is fascinated by you,” she said.

I nearly choked on my own breath, the air in the room suddenly feeling too thin. “Fascinated? Why? I’ve done nothing but lie to his face since I got here.”

“Men are often drawn to a mystery they cannot solve,” she replied, a playful, almost dangerous glint in her blue eyes. “And you, Diana, are a very loud silence. Once a mystery is solved, the interest usually dies."

Along with the spy. I thought to myself